So I was a walking cliche of disastrous 20-something in New York: I treated mental illness with alcohol and drugs and bad sex with much older men. I had a series of bad assistant and PR jobs and would fall back on stripping and fetish work when I inevitably quit my jobs or couldn’t cover expenses. I enrolled in Yale Divinity when I was 25 in the hopes that if I just got a good helping of Jesus, I’d be cured of my debauchery and sadness. While I was there, I halfway cleaned up my act in terms of my health and my priorities and realized that I had been embarrassed by all of the wrong things. So when I returned to New York and my relationship ended, I decided not to ashamed of my creative ambitions or of the fact that I worked in the sex industry. I was told that the best thing about surviving being a chaotic f–k-up in your 20s is turning it into something worthwhile in your 30s, which is what I am trying to do personally and creatively now.

To summarize, Ms. Massey is a drug-addled, mentally ill ex-stripper who has had the privilege of being educated first at the prestigious private New York University (annual tuition $46,170) and subsequently at elite Yale University (annual tuition $47,600), so that we might estimate she has consumed somewhere in excess of $300,000 in order to become a freelance writer. Considering that there are no real entry barriers to the field of journalism (Hunter S. Thompson became a Latin American correspondent in 1962 with no educational credentials beyond a high-school diploma), we must view Ms. Massey’s stunning profligacy as a typical example of The Higher Education Bubble.

Furthermore, could anything be more absurd than Ms. Massey’s idea that she could get “a good helping of Jesus” at the fraudulently named Yale Divinity School? The place has been implacably hostile to Christianity for decades. The impiety and secularized gnosticism of that decadent institution did much to inspire William F. Buckley Jr.’s monumental work God and Man at Yale. If anyone is seeking “a good helping of Jesus,” probably the last place you’d find it is New Haven, Connecticut, being tutored by the academic High Priesthood of postmodern paganism.

The deities worshipped at Yale Divinity School are a pantheon of bloody idols, chief among which are Equality and Progress. Devotees of the Cult of Social Justice celebrate their perverse beliefs with rituals involving fornication, sodomy and abortion, occasionally organizing protests to demand that U.S. taxpayers fund their heathenish rites. No Christian would dare go near such an ivy-covered Temple of Satanic Wickedness, except perhaps to deliver a prophecy of its imminent doom, then fleeing in haste before Jehovah sends fire and brimstone showering down to incinerate the foul stench of that latter-day Gomorrah. But I digress . . .

Having been contraceptively spayed, as it were, for what purpose do you reckon Ms. Massey has done this? If you guessed “riding the carousel,” congratulations, you’re a winner:

“I don’t mind motorcycles but do mind when people ride them without helmets,” I lied to a man named “Carl” on the dating app Bumble when he brought up his Yamaha. I actually believe that the only commendable function of motorcycles is to make aging dads feel the crisp bite of youth again during their midlife crises rather than resorting to age-inappropriate affairs, but I was trying to be pleasant.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked soon after, apparently not registering that not minding a thing is hardly the equivalent of being interested in it. I answered, “never in my life,” still willing to give him a shot but making clear that his motorcycle would not be a selling point.
“I’m not talking about riding my motorcycle,” he replied.
In no mood to hold Carl’s hand through how game actually works, I said, “Okay you have a good night,” hoping he’d realize defeat. “Haha! I’m joking! Someone is slightly uptight I see.”
Oh, Carl. I would have been tempted to defend myself by letting him know I am actually a morally vacuous harlot devoid of sexual mores, but I was busy talking to another man also using the app. We hadn’t met yet, but his sufficient flirting skills prompted me to take a flurry of explicit photos and send the keepers his way. We would later have sex on our first and only date.
I am icy, certainly, but I am not uptight.
Beyond establishing my reputation as a woman who enjoys sex and a bit of text-based flirting, this episode highlights the troubling ease with which men dismiss women as prudish if they are not immediately open and enthusiastic about sex. It is cruel tool in a culture that was infiltrated by a certain brand of blasé sex positivity long before achieving true gender equality and, by extension, before we’ve decentralized men’s orgasms as the ultimate purpose of sex between a man and a woman.
We pathologize women’s entirely rational reactions of “nah” and “meh” to sex as the result of antiquated values. Often, these reactions are because sex might be perilous to a woman’s well-being — and often, if we’re honest, a physically substandard experience. . . .
Too often, sex positivity feels rooted in a feminism that secretly wants boys to like it. It wants to be cool.
Media outlets feed us a relentless stream of articles . . . [in which] inequality is exemplified by the wage gap, the number of women in Congress, and whether women are courting poverty and death by having babies before they’re rich. What is decidedly absent from the debate is a woman’s sexual fulfillment. . . .
But the absence of sexual satisfaction from these discussions is also due to the belief that, for the most part, sexual inequality was resolved by the sexual revolution, women’s lib and the widespread adoption of birth control.
The legacy of these movements is a mountain of unfinished business which gave birth to a half-formed sex positivity lovechild now wrecking havoc on anyone who isn’t down to f–k. . . .

Let me reiterate what I have previously said (“Hit-It-and-Quit-It on Tinder”) that no sane person would ever hook up via online apps, whether it’s Tinder, OKCupid or whatever. This is not “dating,” this is digital degradation, a 21st-century rewrite of Looking for Mr. Goodbar, which is a story that does not end “happily ever after.”

If someone is so recklessly desperate as to peddle themselves to any stranger with a smartphone or a wifi connection, we must be suspicious why they cannot find romantic companionship among people who actually know them in real life. Any attractive single man or woman of good character — kind, courteous, honest — will find no shortage of opportunities to meet potential partners.

What kind of guy seeks prospects on Tinder, and for what purpose? He either (a) has failed in prior attempts to establish any durable romantic relationship, or (b) has no interest in anything more meaningful than a sweaty “pump-and-dump.” Or possibly (c) he’s a sadistic psychopath in search of a victim for his next heinous atrocity. If we may presume that there are no decent men to be had via these apps, what conclusions may we draw about the women who peddle themselves this way? Alana Massey describes herself as “a morally vacuous harlot” who pursues one-night stands and complains of the “physically substandard experience” that does nothing for “a woman’s sexual fulfillment.”

Let us ask: Can feminism solve a problem that feminism itself created?

Is this Yale-educated woman too stupid to see that her compulsive promiscuity — a lifelong habit now abetted by advanced technologies of contraception and dating apps — is the basic cause of her problems? How does her whorish “sex-positive” feminism contribute anything to “true gender equality”? Yet what exactly does she imagine “true gender equality” would look like, if ever we were to achieve it?

Of course, such a question would presume that (a) “sexual inequality” is the explanation for whatever makes women unhappy, (b) “true gender equality” is possible and (c) there is anyone who would actually rather live in that imaginary egalitarian utopia than to live in any other social order which has hitherto existed. Each of those premises is subject to dispute, but the “morally vacuous harlot” just takes it for granted that Progress must inevitably lead to Equality and that, having arrived at her hoped-for destination, she will find there a system that universally provides for “a woman’s sexual fulfillment.” Every hookup in Feminist Heaven will produce ecstatic spasms of pleasure, you see, and the streets will be paved with gold. Or maybe cat litter.

As it will be in the future,
it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain
since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit
and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger
goes wabbling back to the Fire . . .

Translation: “Heterosexuals have it so easy! Don’t they know how hard life is for us queer gay femme homoflexible asexual women?”

Unfortunately, too many heterosexual women have bought into the bogus idea of feminist “empowerment” and turned themselves into morally vacuous harlots like Alana Massey. Some guy “walking into literally any bar in any town” will probably encounter a lot of damaged women like her, and no one would envy him the prospect of a loveless hook-up with a twisted bundle of Yale-educated cat-lady craziness.

[…] Furthermore, could anything be more absurd than Ms. Massey’s idea that she could get “a good hel… The place has been implacably hostile to Christianity for decades. The impiety and secularized gnosticism of that decadent institution did much to inspire William F. Buckley Jr.’s monumental work God and Man at Yale. If anyone is seeking “a good helping of Jesus,” probably the last place you’d find it is New Haven, Connecticut, being tutored by the academic High Priesthood of postmodern paganism. […]

Gringao October 25th, 2015 @ 9:21 pm

THAT was a Rembrandt of social criticism.

John Pryce October 25th, 2015 @ 9:21 pm

That was, hands down, some of the most disturbing writing I’ve ever had the misfortune to read, and I made myself read that NYT piece last week about disability activists sexually victimizing the people they are claiming to help.
.
Jesus H Christ, that woman needs therapy, not more sex. If she’s anything to go by, no wonder so many Leftists are so unhappy.

John Pryce October 25th, 2015 @ 9:25 pm

And I really have to wonder what kind of men go for that. That pic of her in the gold bikini and blazer isn’t exactly attractive. Maybe if I got high and downed a bottle of bad Scotch first, I might think she rated higher than a 3.
.
But she looks older than she is, she’s got… baggage, and she’s flat-chested. All of that spells bad, but the last means there’s no upside to sticking it to an obviously crazy woman.

Toads October 25th, 2015 @ 9:32 pm

Austin Bailey is part of the third gender that is forming in the West.

Pickup artists want to have sex with women.
Women want to have sex with pickup artists.
Austin gets to pay the bills!

Everybody wins!

Toads October 25th, 2015 @ 9:33 pm

BTW, a ‘male feminist’ is always a sleazy predator in disguise, as Hugo Schwyzer proved.

It is the perfect cover, really. Women know this, which is why women avoid male feminists.

earthtone55 October 25th, 2015 @ 9:56 pm

Does it really matter?

earthtone55 October 25th, 2015 @ 10:00 pm

Chicken. . .egg. I don’t think by itself sex does, but having mental illness ages you, as do drinking and smoking.

Joanie Smithie October 25th, 2015 @ 10:21 pm

Yeah she’s pretty worn out. Poor girl, the government should give her money for some reason.

DeadMessenger October 26th, 2015 @ 1:38 am

uRrite

Sun_Zeneise October 26th, 2015 @ 1:11 pm

She gives true meaning to the term “F’d her brains out.”

JackLo October 26th, 2015 @ 2:15 pm

“Hey, I’m a left wing egalitarian, and feminist, but let’s go to a lingerie party at the Plaza Hotel with the decadent rich!” These hypocrites give away who they are with everything they do. Nice picture of her and pal(and subject of this blog on occasion)Lori Adorable pre-party, and with exposed tits.

JackLo October 26th, 2015 @ 2:21 pm

I had a girlfriend who was diagnosed with PCOS, and her younger sister had it also, but I don’t believe it’s hereditary. It’s a pretty awful condition, too. It makes conceiving very difficult, if at all, ovarian cysts are incredibly painful, and weight gain, along with other nasty side effects like hair in unexpected places on a woman due to hormonal issues, are a constant, and demoralizing problem.

CO2isGood October 26th, 2015 @ 2:56 pm

I laughed, thanks.
…..and the govt probably does give her money for some reason.

SHAMELESS CAPITALISM

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